Annie's Fan Fiction
by DJCaiaphas
Summary: Annie begins writing a fan fiction, which parallels events at her time in Greendale ... which include trying to rope Jeff into one of her newest projects, a singing show entitled Greendale Idol. Crawling in ducts and ice skating ensue.
1. Chapter 1: Questionable Content

_She looked longingly at their picture together. Well, technically that wasn't true. She was standing 5 feet back, a scrawny awkward girl with a crooked smile. He was standing in the foreground, a fit, tall, dark and handsome jock in a football jersey with a smile that was to die for. _

_She tossed the picture down on her bed. That was forever ago. Well, three years ago. But it sure felt like forever. Many things had happened in the meantime. He'd gotten attached to someone else, a dumb stupid redhead that he totally was only attracted to because of her boobs. And she'd tried dating, but the last guy was a mumbly loser with no charisma and a stupid goatee. Deep down in her heart, she'd never stopped giving hope on her first love._

"_Oh, Ripcord," the Baroness sighed while sitting in her prison cell. "If only you knew that I only had ten days to live due to poisonous effects of the nanomites coursing through my body."_

_Suddenly, Snake Eyes showed up at her cell. "Baroness," he said. "The MARS Corporation has resurfaced in Springfield. The Joes think that your insider knowledge is exactly what we need to pull off this mission."_

"Actually," Abed said in his typical rapid fire manner, "when Snake Eyes trained with the Arashikage Clan, he took a vow of silence after Storm Shadow murdered their master. Unless we're talking about the 'Real American Hero' continuity where Snake Eyes' silence is due to a horrible disfigurement, but since you're playing on the childhood friendship of Ripcord and the Baroness I immediately assumed you're writing a fan fiction taking place in the GI Joe: The Movie continuity."

"Whu --- how long have you been standing there?" Annie squeaked. She was jolted back to reality. This was her own personal sanctuary, free from anyone, in the mostly abandoned Greendale school library a half hour before closing. This was Annie time.

Well, it was until she found her staring at Abed's seemingly unblinking eyes.

"About fifteen minutes," Abed said, peeking at Annie's laptop screen over his shoulders. "I have a bad habit of being very very still. It's OK if you didn't notice. I'm not offended. Anyway, Snake Eyes is a silent warrior and if you take that away from him it pretty much destroys his character."

"It's a little something called artistic license," And for the record, it's GI Joe: The Movie and the extended universe, up to and including the video game."

"Fan fiction seems to be self-defeating," Abed continued. "If you're going to write a story, you probably should at least give them different names from the originals. That way you can claim plausible deniability."

"Look who's talking," Annie huffed. "Your videos star really badly disguised versions of everyone you know."

If Abed was offended, he didn't show it. "That's different. My storytelling is based on a keen observation of human personalities and relationships. Fan fiction boils down to repeating the exact same personality traits and catchphrases found in available material. The stories never expand beyond the original scope. On the other hand, they tend to be exercises in wish fulfillment. For example, you seem to be impressing your own neuroses onto the character of the Baroness."

Annie fidgeted.

"And the character of Ripcord," Abed continued, "seems to be a reasonable facsimile of…"

"Guess who's going to the Division E College State Divisional Semi-Finals!" Troy said, all smiles as he entered the library. Suddenly, he looked confused. "Wait," he said. "What are we doing in the library? It's Saturday and I think it's against my religion to be educated today."

"Oh, we're not studying," Abed said. "Annie's just writing fan fiction."

Annie shut her laptop and gulped.

"That's cool," Troy said. "Is that some sort of sports fiction? Like The Blind Side?"

Before Abed could answer, Annie cut him off. "Yes!" she said. "Yes. It's a sports story. I totally love writing stories about sports!"

"Tight," Troy said. "Which one?"

"The… the one with the ball?"

"Oh, all right," Troy said, confused. He slapped his hands together. "So," he said, "I can count on the two of you to sheer for me at the State Semi-Finals against next week against the City School of Barbers Hairmen?" Troy smiled. "Hairmen," he chuckled to himself.

"Next week?" Annie said. "That's… that's when the Campus Entertainment Committee is doing Greendale Idol. And since I'm president, I have to be there. Don't you remember?"

Troy shook his head. "Was I supposed to remember?"

"You … promised me last month that you'd be in the contest. We were supposed to be singing a duet. Together. You and me."

Troy slapped his forehead. "Oh, sorry!" Troy apologized. "See, when I agreed to that, I figured there was no way we'd make it to post-season with the losing record we had. But then, Leonard --- remember the old guy we had at linebacker?"

"Y-yeah…."

"He had to take some time off to get a kidney transplant. But the replacement we put in Brenda --- that indie pro-wrestler in our accounting class who goes by Killopatra? --- it turns out she's got brutal run defense while maintaining an alluring feminine side. If she didn't have a moustache I'd seriously think about making a move on her."

Annie ground her teeth.

"After that," Troy continued, "we ended up winning every single game after that, and we barely squeaked into the post-season. So long story short… I can't make it."

"Well," Annie said, downcast, "I can't force you to quit the team for a silly karaoke show. I know how much this means to you. I'm just sorry I can't be there for you either."

"Hey," Troy said. "It's the semis. Catch me when we make the championships, OK? Just answer me one question."

"What is it, Troy?"

"Was Abed standing behind you this whole time?"

Annie glanced over her shoulder. There was Abed, still staring like a hawk. "I'm playing it low key," he said.

"Pretty much, yeah," Annie said to Troy.

Troy shook his head. "Thank goodness," he said as he left he room.

Annie groaned. This would've been such a perfect moment. Her. Troy. On stage, under soft lights. Singing "We've Got Tonight" by Kenny Rogers. She had it written out in her mind. In fact, it may have been written in Chapter One of "The Baroness' Secret Mission," but with the names changed to protect the innocent.

No, wait. Forget about the man trap. There was a bigger dilemma at stake here. She was president of the Campus Entertainment Committee. Without a main attraction, no one would want to show up at Glendale Idol. It would be a disaster. There would be ten contestants and fewer in the audience.

"Uggggghhhhh," she said. "I was SO banking on him to show! What do I do? What do I do?"

She looked at Abed. "Don't look at me," he said. "I'm on right before you with my spoken word rendition of 'Love Shack.' I don't know if I could handle the pressure of memorizing two songs. It messes up my rhythm."

----

Jeff looked up from his Entertainment Weekly and cocked his eyebrow. Annie was standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on her heels and pulling an impossibly sincere face. Always a bad sign. Especially since, simmering underneath, was Annie's secret gambit: guilt and desperation, the two-headed monster that Jeff was powerless to stop.

"Exactly HOW many clubs are you in again?" Jeff finally said.


	2. Chapter 2: The Damage is Irreversible

_Snake Eyes and the Baroness paradropped into the abandoned Mayan Temple. Snake Eyes turned on his night vision goggles. Night Vipers were crawling everywhere. He prepped his katana and steeled himself to take on a whole army. The odds were against him. But then again, they always were. He was the kind of guy who was impossibly gallant. One of the few good men who'd risk his own life to protect the people around him. That's what made Snake Eyes so cool._

"_Wait," said the Baroness. "You don't have to do this. If I remember this station correctly, there's a secret tunnel a half mile down the road from here. It's disguised as a sewer exit on the riverbank."_

"_Thank you, Baroness," Snake Eyes said in his typically gruff and very cool manner, "but I prefer to do things my way."_

"_Dammit," the Baroness said, blushing and stomping her foot. "Would it kill you to go along with my plans for once? Why does it feel like I'm pulling you through a bed of nails every time I suggest something?"_

"Because it's a lame karaoke party," Jeff said as he walked toward the cafeteria breakfast line with Annie following closely behind him, "and the only difference between this and Judy Garland Appreciation Night at the Sushi Bar is the fact that it was notarized by Dean Pelton."

"It's not exactly karaoke," Annie insisted. "I modified the format so every act is a duet. I think it works on a more personal, interactive level than a single singer, and it gives the entire show a little _je ne sais quois_."

"Huh? Sorry, I'm a little rusty on my Spanish."

"That was French, actually."

Pierce, standing at the other side of Jeff in the self-serve breakfast line, suddenly took notice of the two. "Hey, Annie!" he said sunnily. "Is the Greendale Idol still on this weekend?"

"So far," she said glumly.

"Oh, good," Pierce said. "If it's OK with you, I want to make a slight modification on the entrance form I submitted. Instead of Pierce Hawthorne, I'd like it to read: 'PH Balance.'"

"What?" Annie said, exasperated. "Why?"

"It's my rap artist name," he said proudly, "You see, Fake Troy and I…."

"He HAS a name," Shirley said on the other side of Pierce. "It's LeJon."

"….we've been working on a fresh new mash-up fusing West Coast Rap style with Barry Manilow. And, Pierce Hawthorne … it lacks some street cred. It sounds like…."

"The name of the CEO running a moist toilette company, maybe?" Jeff interjected.

"EXACTLY," Pierce replied. "It's far too corporate. It reeks of The Man. I need a handle that gives me street cred, like 50 Cent or Aaron Carter. Not something sissy like M and M's."

"That's Eminem," Jeff said.

"Hence," Pierce continued, "PH Balance. See, the PH are my initials, and Balance highlights the fine line balancing act between hip hop and 70's easy listening. Pierce Hawthorne, that's the old and busted. PH Balance, that's the new hotness. You hear that name, and you think about hanging out with your bitches, hoes, and nig-…." Pierce looked nervously at Shirley, who fixed him with a stern glare. "Nig-cotine addicts. Because cigarettes are a huge problem in the inner city. So I've heard. Speaking truth to power, right Shirley?"

"I don't listen to rap," Shirley said. "It's only young boys pretending to be all tough. It's cute when they're six, but it's annoying when they're twenty. Why do they have to be mad at? Did their ex's split taking all their money in a court settlement? Now, see James Blunt? He's the real deal. I heard he served in the army. And those washboard abs of his? Girl could spend all night exfoliating her face just rubbing her cheeks on his tummy."

"I'll look into it, Pierce," Annie said hesitantly. "Jeff, I'm not asking you because you're super popular or because you wear Burberry and Dolce & Galbanna Cologne for Men. Which is… wow, it smells pretty hot."

"Thanks," Jeff said, smirking.

"It's just," Annie said, drooping her shoulders, "I'm asking you because we're friends."

"Annie, I'm terrible at this," Jeff said. "Remember the Debate Team? I didn't even know the rules beforehand."

"But we won!" Annie beamed. "And that's why I need you. You're…." A knight in shining armor? No, that would sound like she was hitting on him. But would that be so wrong? No, think. Snake Eyes? Wait, that's dorky. "…clutch," Annie said. "You're clutch!"

Jeff sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll think about it."

"Thanks," Annie smiled. "I'll chalk you down as tentatively yes."

As she started to turn away, Troy skidded into the cafeteria. "Hey, Annie!" he called out. "How's that sports novel going?"

Jeff snorted. "Sports novel?" he asked. "You don't know anything about sports. I spent most of Troy's first football game explaining the rules to you. And I don't think I ever got farther than try to explain who was on the 'green butts' and who was on the 'yellow butts.'"

"I do know about sports!" Annie said. "There's competition. And action. People getting hurt and acting all arrogant. It's not different from watching a movie."

"Huh," Jeff said. "Can I read it?"

"It's in work!" Annie said defensively. "I have to work the plot out on my own. And the Grammar Girl podcast says I can't let anyone see it unless it's done."

She twirled around and escaped down the hall. Jeff's gaze lingered on her retreat, admiring her gracefulness yet purposefulness, before shaking his head and scooping the gravy on his hash browns.

Britta had been watching the whole exchange from a table on the far side of the room. She also watched Annie, then turned to look at Jeff. She needed to talk to him. But now now. Later.


	3. Chapter 3: Player versus Player

_Snake Eyes and the Baroness skidded downhill to the river bank. The Baroness felt something stir in her heart. Just earlier this week she'd been pining for Ripcord, but now he seemed distant, a silly ideal she'd made up long ago as to what a perfect man looked like. But Snake Eyes was right here with her. He'd saved her several times ever since she joined the Joes, but she never appreciated how much he'd sacrificed for her until today. _

_He used to be attached… at least she though he was. He never said anything to anyone, but he'd secretly pined to be with Scarlet, who was also her best friend. But that didn't seem to go anywhere. They were still on speaking terms --- which Snake Eyes could do after he broke his code of silence --- but romantically linked?_

_Besides, Snake Eyes had that butt that just wouldn't quit._

_The Baroness' daydreams were interrupted when Breaker, a weasely Moroccan information specialist, interrupted on his comlink._

"_Earth to Baroness," he said. "We've located the duct entrance. It looks like only you can crawl through the opening."_

"Me?" Annie squeaked. "Why me?"

"Because while I do admittedly have a very thin and flexible frame, I can't get past the first three feet of length without dislocating my spinal cord," Abed said. "Unlike everything the Star Trek series has been telling us, ducts in the real world are narrow confined spaces that only people below the 50th percentile can access. Since you are the smallest out of the three of us, you stand the best chance of making it through the school's duct system. Which I wouldn't be asking you if Troy hadn't knocked over Fievel's cage again."

"I apologized about that like seven times already," Troy said, his brow covered with sweat. "This wouldn't be a problem if God didn't make mice with beady eyes and wet, snuffling snouts." He shook in disgust.

"What is with you guys and that mouse?" Annie said, exasperated. "Is this becoming a thing for you two?"

"If this were a fan fiction," Abed said, "we'd be guilty of repeating the exact same scenes that the viewer already saw on TV. Just a thought."

"Stop it, Abed," Annie said. "We are not a fan fiction."

"Yeah," said Troy. "If this was a fan fiction, the winning team would start losing a few games before rallying the last few games just to squeak into the playoffs. What?"

Annie cocked her eyebrows, while Abed just ignored him.

"Here's a Bluetooth I paired up with your cell phone ahead of time," Abed said, fastening it to Annie's ear. "You can thank me later. I'll communicate to you via my laptop, where I have a schematic of the school's ventilation system. If you see Fievel or if you get lost, give me a call and I'll point you in the right direction. Don't worry. It'll be a piece of cake."

"Alright," Annie said, crouching down at the vent that Troy had jimmied open with a crowbar minutes earlier. She flashed a stern glance at the two guys. "Don't look up my skirt."

----

Britta caught Jeff in the student lounge watching morning TV.

"You know, the Nesquik generally gets more sugar than the Trix rabbit," he said. "But that can't be too good for his health. He's probably halfway to getting Type II diabetes. Who's the real winner here?"

"We need to talk, Jeff," Britta said, cornering him.

"Why do I get this weird feeling that you're my mom and you found a stack of dirty magazines between my mattresses?" Jeff replied.

Britta persisted. "What exactly is going on between you and Annie?"

Jeff looked up from his magazine. "Do I detect a little jealousy, Miz Perry?"

"You wish," Britta replied slyly. "Kinda convenient that whenever Annie asks for you, you come to her rescue, don't you think?"

"Hey," Jeff replied defensively, "it's not like I'm jumping at the opportunity."

"It's not like you're not jumping at the opportunity, either," Britta said. "Don't get me wrong, Jeff. I think it's kind of cute. You get Troy to join the football team, Annie steps in, you try to get him out of it. You pretend to be cold to her on Halloween, Annie needs a dance partner for the evening, and there you are. She needs a debate partner, you join the team, and you save the day with a kiss. Interesting."

"What's your point, Britta?"

"Are you in love with her, Jeff?"

"Whoa," Jeff said. "That was … a pretty big leap of logic there. And I'm not sure I'm quite comfortable with your tone. When did you become Dr. Phil?"

"Is it?" Britta said. "Is it really? You're both my friends. Don't get me wrong, I find your chivalry one of your most endearing qualities. But you can't keep stringing her along, Jeff."

Jeff slumped his shoulders, and his face dropped to a vulnerable look. For the couple of months that they'd taken class together, Britta could honestly say she had never seen Jeff like this before. "What if I'm not ready to decide?" Jeff said.

"I think you're a good guy, Jeff," Britta said, cupping his hands, "but you can be a real coward sometimes. Which totally makes you a guy. It's easy to hide your feelings behind jokes and quips. And that's fine. But if you're not ready to admit you're in love with her…."

----

Abed was right. There wasn't much room in the air vents. It was downright claustrophic: four walls of flexing metal hemming you in. Annie found herself crawling forward on her knees and elbows. Why hadn't he thought of giving her elbow pads and knee pads? It's not like they ever locked the equipment locker at the gym.

Suddenly, she spotted something small and white ahead. Fievel! He was maybe ten feet away, perched in front of a slotted exit vent. What was it Abed and Troy had to do to get that little rodent to come?

"Somewhere, out there," Annie sang, "beneath the … uh … pale blue sky?"

"Actually, it's pale moonlight," Abed said over the Bluetooth. "Not that it's going to work. Fievel only responds to Troy and myself's combined voices, so your voice is wholly foreign. Plus you're on the wrong octave and slightly off-key."

"Thanks a lot," Annie repled.

"You're going to have to grab Fievel by the tail and bring him back," Abed said.

"Where am I supposed to stuff him?" Annie asked. "My mouth?"

"Well, hopefully someplace warm and soft, like your…"

"Don't SAY IT, Abed."

"What's wrong about your sweater pocket? I noticed you had a button flap."

"Oh. Yeah. Good thinking."

Annie crawled forward and took a swipe at Fievel's tail. She missed. The mouse crawled a few inches to the left, but hadn't broken into a sprint yet. So far, so good. Annie crawled a few inches further. She cupped her hand to one side to prevent Fievel from escaping, then snapped her fingers forward. Got him.

As she started to pull Fievel toward her, she noticed a flickering light through the vent. This must be the student lounge, she thought. When were they going to replace those old TVs with flat screens? And sitting on the sofa in front of the TV were Britta and Jeff.

She wanted to tap on the grate to give them a little scare. How did she get there, they'd wonder? Secret passages, she's reply, just to mess with them. She would've done that, but she noticed that Britta was holding Jeff's hand in hers. And she caught a snip of Britta's voice.

"… I want you to turn her down."

"Now that's a surprise," Jeff said. "This is usually the moment when you insist that helping others is great for my development as a human being."

"Not this time," Britta replied. "You've got to sort your own feelings out before you run gung-ho into things anymore. Don't do that singing contest with Annie, Jeff. For me."

Annie was confused. Why would Britta be so insistent that Jeff not be on Greendale Idol. Unless…. Annie gulped. We're Britta and Jeff…. No. They never said anything about it to the Spanish study group. But Britta was Jeff's dream girl… the only reason he started the study group… or so Britta said. Were they seeing each other in secret?

Oh God, Annie thought. I'm such a loser.

"Annie," Abed inquired on the Bluetooth. "Did you get Fievel yet?"

Annie looked at her hands. The mouse had slipped out.

Suddenly, an girlish, ear-shattering scream pierced her eardrums.

"Never mind," Abed replied. "Fievel found his way back. Troy? Troy?"


	4. Chapter 4: Cyanide and Happiness

_The mission was over. Ripcord was out there on a special ops mission, making out with Dialtone, who it should not be forgotten HAS A MUSTACHE. And Snake Eyes was getting together with Scarlett. The Baroness knew that she shouldn't be offended. It's not like they were really official. But Snake Eyes and her did have a special connection. Didn't they? I mean, he could've at least TOLD her he was seeing someone else._

_It was enough to make her go emo! But wait... the Baroness already has raven black hair. She couldn't even go emo if she tried! Oh, no!_

_The Baroness decided to break off on her own from the rest of the Joes, just to be alone. This was her own personal territory. The team knew nothing of the maze of tunnels lying under the Mayan Temple._

_She reached her old bedchambers, which she barely remembered after the Joes restored her memory. She remembered her old cot, her old nightstand ... and a bottle of champagne and two wine glasses?_

Suddenly, someone familiar stepped out of the shadows.

"Hi, Annie," Pierce said sultrily, dressed in a loose fitting purple silk bathrobe. He poured the champagne in one of the glasses. "Let's spend the night together. I can brush your hair and we can tell each other secrets."

Annie looked down. She was also wearing a lacy black negligee.

"Pierce?" Annie said with a tremble in her voice.

"Who needs those guys?" Pierce said. "Troy and Jeff are already spoken for. Unlike me. And, if I may brag, my ass would win first prize at the State Fair."

"Nooooooooaaaaaaa~!!!!!" Annie screamed, waking herself from her dream and into the front row of Professor Whitman's accounting class.

"Yes!" clapped Professor Whitman. "That is the correct reaction to the results of this balance sheet. With this much depreciation on capital, you get negative shareholder equity! Class, you can learn a lot from Miss Edison. Accounting... is an emotional science."

The class broke out in nods.

Annie was disturbed. Had she actually fallen asleep in class?

----

"I don't fall asleep in class," Annie said to Shirley later at the lounge. "Education is sort of my addiction."

"Well it's a good thing that it was Professor Whitman's class," Shirley said. "Who does he think he is, Robin Williams? I bet that guy watches _Dead Poets Society_ every night to before he goes to sleep. That must've been one hell of a nightmare, though. You certainly made sure no one else was asleep. What were you dreaming?"

"I saw P-…. I saw Pi- …."

"Go on," Shirley said, patting Annie's hand comfortingly.

"You know, it's ... way too disturbing," Annie said, shivering.

"Did you even get enough sleep last night, hun?" Shirley asked. "It looks like you're still in your unmentionables."

"WHAT?!?!" Annie looked down. She was wearing baggy sweatpants and a shapeless sweatshirt with the word "Greendale" emblazoned across it.

"Ain't that what you sleep in?" Shirley asked. "Usually, you come in dressing like Reese Witherspoon in _Election_. That," she said, wagging her finger up and down, "will get you mistaken for the cleaning lady."

"I don't know," Annie said, frustrated. "I don't remember much. Everything's a jumble. All I remember is watching TV with a bucket of caramel almond praline ice cream."

"Are you sure?"

"It could've been butterscotch praline. I'm sure there were hard crunchy things in it, and it probably tasted delicious. It's all a haze."

Shirley snapped her fingers. "Pecans," she said. "That's probably what you were trying to say earlier." Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Ooh, that's not good."

"It's not?"

"It doesn't matter what praline you had last night," Shirley said sympathetically. "Praline is the food of unhappy people. It's when you want to die, but you'll settle for a diabetic shock. Oh, Lord, something's eating away at you, dear. Care to share it with me?"

Shirley had that uncanny friendliness about her. Even though she knew she ran the risk that Shirley would tell everyone her problems in hearing distance, Annie would appreciate the burden off her shoulders.

But as Annie was about to speak, Britta tossed her bag on the floor and collapsed on the chair across from her. "I swear," she said, "if Pierce makes that crack about me being a lesbian again, I'm going to prison for assault and battery on the elderly. So, hear anything good lately, Shirley?"

"Excuse me," said Annie, briskly brushing past Britta and avoiding eye contact as she headed out.

Britta turned to Shirley, confused. "Is it just me," Britta asked, "or is Annie avoiding me?"

"You know what I think," Shirley whispered as she leaned over to Britta. "I think she's just got a tender tummy."

As Annie hurriedly walked down the hall. Why should she be upset? Shouldn't she be happy for Britta and Jeff? Weren't they her friends? Weren't they waiting so long for this moment? It would be like if she and Troy get together. Or she used to think so.

She knew what she had to do. There was nothing to live for. She was going to kill herself.

With knowledge.

----

Annie followed her itinerary the next day. A time tested, mother-approved formula to numb her from any and all emotion.

Do all of next month's reading and homework for Spanish class, including the Suggest Exercises in the Supplemental Handbook that even Senor Chang doesn't know about.

Read the next month's chapter assignment on Social Psychology. Reread the previous chapter assignments. Read the chapters that weren't assigned.

Say "Hello" to Professor Slater as you pass by. Do not give her the stink eye or make snarling noises.

Go to the Spanish study group. No, wait. Skip the Spanish study group. Britta and Jeff are there. It is too soon.

Push. File. Stamp. Index. Brief. Debrief. Number.

Ask several questions in creative writing class, all of them pertaining to grammatical questions such as, "When is it proper to use who or whom?"

See if it's possible to score notes for Spanish 201, just in case.

Use school library to print out copies of fan fiction. Grammatical critique much easier to do by hand. Must determine whether to conform to the Oxford Guide to Style, The Chicago Manual of Style, or Strunk and White's Elements of Style.

Nod robotically when Troy asks you if he should grow a mustache. Troy blissfully unaware of continued attempts at being a robot. It must be nice. Wait, he's growing a mustache? Why?

Walk briskly past the Criminal Law class room. That would be Jeff's class, 10:00 to 10:55. Move move move move.

OK. Passed by the class room. Close call. Look back. Yes, close call. Now head over to the engineering wing to see if they'll let you sit in a metallurgy class.

She turned around and ran smack dab into Jeff's chest.

"Hey!" Annie said. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in class!"

"You follow my class schedule?" Jeff asked.

"Y-yeah," Annie said. "I follow everyone's schedule. It helps... optimize... my... avoiding.... What are you doing out of class?"

"Waste of time," Jeff said. "I've logged more time law-talking than that doofus. I figure I only need to come in for the mid-term and finals." He nodded his head toward the school entrance. "Want to play hooky?"


	5. Chapter 5: Nothing Better

"_Baroness," Snake Eyes said, taking the former Cobra assassin into his arms and whirling her until her body was perpendicular to the floor. "I have always loved you…."_

If this was a date, Annie thought as she laced up her skates, this would be the most clichéd date ever. But it would be incredibly sweet, and probably the best date ever. But that didn't mean anything, because they were just really good friends right? And this was something really good friends did. Ice skating! It's not like she was seducing Jeff away from Britta with sexy dancing, right?

Jeff had originally planned to sneak them into the small theater a few blocks over from the college on a crowded thoroughfare lined with small used book stores, specialty clothing shops run by aging hippies, and ethnic restaurants of questionable quality. But they decided against it when they realized only two movies playing. There was the one with the shirtless vampire hunks (and they both vetoed that idea when they spotted Dean Pelton buying a ticket for the showing) and the serious indie film with the talking fox ("not the one voiced by George Clooney," Jeff explained to a confused Annie).

On the way, though, they'd noticed that the district outdoor ice skating rink had opened now that the weather was below freezing. It was located on a converted parking lot, hemmed in on three sides by brick two-story buildings. Summer and fall, cheap T-shirt salemen would set up stall there for passing tourists, but come winter it was all skating, all the time.

Before she knew it, they'd rented out a couple of skates, and they were sitting side by side, slipping off their shoes, and trying to figure out the best way to stuff their feet into the too-tight skates while 80's pop music played over the crackling loud speakers.

"One advantage of being forced to play hockey as a kid," Jeff said, pulling his laces together, "you learn how to skate before you learn that leaf rubbings have limited educational value. Well, that and the proper way to grab a ten-year-old's sweater when you're beating the crap out of him."

Annie tied her laces of her own skates. She spent an excoriating amount of time fussing over whether the laces were of relatively equal length. "I haven't skated since I was six," she said, "so don't expect me to be pulling any triple salchows or anything that resembles competent ice skating."

"Don't worry," Jeff said. "You've already done it once. It's like riding a bike. You never forget."

"On the contrary," Annie retorted, "there's a big difference. Riding a bike is not usually done over a cold, hard, slippery surface."

She steadied herself on the railings surrounding the rink and stepped out onto the ice. She made it about five feet in before falling flat on her butt.

"You have to lean forward," Jeff said, helping her up. "If you fall forward, you can always catch yourself with your hands."

"If it's all the same, I think I'll grab hold of you for at least the first few songs," Annie said. "For balance," she added hastily. She smoothed down her skirt. "I think those kids were laughing at me," she said, gesturing to a group of laughing kids whizzing by.

"If you want, I could teach you how to beat them up," Jeff said.

"I'm totally taking you up on the offer."

"Oh, c'mon," Jeff said. "That was a joke."

He firmly held her small hand in his. He steadily placed his other hand on the curve of her back for support, holding her close. "Ready?"

Annie's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah."

After a slight stumble, they were passably sliding around the rink. "You really shouldn't care too much about what other people think of you. The important thing is tomorrow, you never have to see them again."

"That's easy for you to say, Mr. Popular," Annie said. "At least once a week, I still run into someone calling me Little Annie Alderol."

"Wait. Are we still talking about those damn kids?"

The music came to an abrupt stop. "Adults only on the floor for couples dance. Adults only on the floor for couples dance."

"Well," said Jeff, "that solves one problem."

A very grainy version of Sixpence None The Richer's "Kiss Me" began to play. Annie thought that this would be very romantic, except that Jeff and her were just very, very good friends.

Almost on cue, a few snowflakes began drifting onto the rink, creating a strangely magical if utterly convenient atmosphere. Annie muttered, "That's…."

"…interesting," finished Jeff.

They froze. Finishing each other's sentences … very bad sign.

Jeff continued with his attempts to coach Annie. They managed to stay upright for the most part. The falls, though, did manage to unnerve Annie.

"Augh! I'm no good at this!" she screamed after having fallen for the fifth time.

"You're just not used to failure," Jeff said, helping her up. "Whatever happened to that patented Annie Edison can-do attitude?"

"I am SO used to failure!" Annie snapped, frustrated. "What makes you think I have no idea what being failure feels like? Look at me! I'm a total loser, Jeff. I'm not cool. Trendy. Liked. Being a perfectionist is all I've got, and that is so very sad."

Annie bit her lip. This was more than she ever wanted to say, but now that the tap was open, she couldn't stop herself. "That's why I have no option but to at least try to be successful, just to salvage my life. Because if I don't, some day, I'm going to wake up a crazy old spinster and own, like, thirty cats and smell like kitty litter. Why are you smiling? I'm being serious!"

Jeff whirled Annie around. Now they were holding hands and facing each other. "Sorry," Jeff said. "I always figured you to be twenty cats max."

Annie punched Jeff in the shoulder.

"Ow! OK, I guess I deserved that. Alright. I'm not joking around now. I mean, look at my eyes. Do I look like I'm joking?"

"No."

"Annie, I have met a lot of people in my life. Some of them, not many, are currently doing time in a juvie hall. Those guys are losers. You're nowhere near to being a loser. If any of them even had a fraction of your ambition, at the very least they'd be gainfully employed in the service industry. But you? Out of anyone in the study group, I worry about you the least."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And who cares about being popular? You know who else was popular? Hitler. With Germans between 1930 and 1945. But see, none of that matters because the guy was a terrible, terrible human being. Being popular is a poor substitute to being a good person."

"I … guess you're right."

"You know I'm right. If you only even work half as hard as you do, you'll be doing just fine. I mean, you're smart, resourceful, gorgeous…."

"You … you really think so?"

Jeff's eyes softened. "Yeah."

Annie smiled. "Thanks," she said.

Suddenly, the front of her skate caught on an uneven patch of ice. She stretched out her arms to try to maintain balance, but failed. With a yelp, she came crashing down onto the ice, taking Jeff with her.

Somehow, Jeff maneuvered his fall to catch Annie's head six inches from the ice. His arm was wrapped against her back. Their soft, warm bodies were pressed close to each other. Her hair, which had come undone, brushed across his face. Annie could almost feel the beating of his heart … or was it her heart?

They were both breathing hard. Understandable, since that was the adrenaline from falling, or…

Their eyes locked. For a moment that seemed like forever, they saw each other.

Annie was the first to talk.

"C-… Coffee?" she stammered. "I … sure could use some coffee! You like coffee, right?"


	6. Chapter 6: The Dreamer

_The Baroness gasped. "What did you just say?" she said, backing herself against the wall._

_Snake Eyes, the man of mystery, look off his mask. The Baroness saw his whole face, but only saw his beautiful blue and dreamy eyes where a girl could get lost in forever. She caught her breath. She was seeing this man who'd stood by her all this time for the very first time._

"_I've finally made a decision," said Snake Eyes, "I've thought about it long and hard and in the dark confines of the night. I've decided…."_

"…Team Jacob," said Jeff.

"You _would_," Annie replied. "You're such a jock."

"I was kinda hoping that you'd say I was such a werewolf," said Jeff. "Buff, dangerous, and with sharp pointy teeth."

"You know," Annie said, stirring the little red plastic stick around in her ceramic cup, "this place looks nothing like how I imagined a coffee house to ever look like. I mean, I get that nothing really looks like they're depicted in popular culture, but this looks really sad." She pointed at the crooked small mirrors on the wall. "I'm pretty sure Ikea sells those in bulk."

Jeff rocked back and forth on his chair. "They're Chinese knock-off Ikea chairs at best," Jeff said. "Can't see them holding against anyone over 250 lb. And I'm almost certain that these table cloths were discounted 90% off at an after-Halloween sale. The smiling pumpkins are a nice touch, though the ghosts are a bit much."

"Hey," said the barista, a skinny, pale kid with an unremarkably thin goatee, "it's called a low capital investment. You might want to look into it."

"Everyone been kinda worried about you the last couple of days," Jeff said, ignoring the remark. "You've pretty much disappeared, and when we do catch up to you, you're mostly unresponsive. Half think you're cracking under the stresses of taking on too many project, half think you've got PMS, and at least one person thinks you're ignoring him."

"Pierce," Annie said under her breath.

"No, actually he though you were pregnant."

"Oh. Oh! Wait, what?"

"I sorta left that out because it didn't seem appropriate."

Annie took a sip of her Banana Sundae Mocha. Definitely not her favorite --- far too sweet by half , like drinking a liquid Juicy Fruit --- but when banana was on the menu it was impossible not to scratch that particular itch of curiosity.

"Stress, I guess," Annie said cagily. "Jeff, I've been thinking. It wasn't fair of me to push you into singing with me at the Greendale Idol. You… don't have to do it. In fact, don't do it. Sometimes, I just don't know when to be assertive and when to compromise."

Jeff looked confused. "Why am I getting the feeling that this isn't the whole story?" he inquired.

Annie waved him off. "I've… already asked Professor Whitman if he could do the song with me. He's already emceeing the event and running the sound system. I figure that since he's already there … you know…."

"How about all those brightly colored fliers you hung around the campus with my name as the headliner?"

"Yeah…. I don't think anyone reads those. At least not the ones that don't have flaming skulls or half-naked women on them. I figure that if anyone's disappointed, at least they'll be partially relieved to watch a teacher making a fool of himself on stage. It's the classic vaudeville gambit."

"Annie…."

"Oh, crap!" Annie yelped. "Is that Senor Chang?"

Jeff turned to look out the window. Senor Chang had just pulled up on his scooter in the handicapped parking spot in front of the coffee house. He'd just engaged the kick stand, and he was now fiddling with his helmet.

"He can't see us here!" Annie said, hyperventilating. "We skipped his class today!"

"So what?" said Jeff. "He has no power outside the safe confines of Greendale Community College. Out here in the real world, he's a human just like the rest of us --- frail, mushy, and easily intimidated."

"He can fail us, Jeff! He's done it before! Okay okay okay. I've got an idea. On the count of three, we duck under the table."

"What? That's…."

"Jeff!"

Jeff sighed. "Dammit," he said with amused resignation, "you're using The Voice."

Annie smiled, but just for a second. "OK, Jeff. On the count of three. Three!"

They ducked under the table a second before they heard the door open and the bell ringing. Senor Chang began haranguing the barista with his loud and abrasive voice.

There was barely enough room under the table. Jeff and Annie had to be huddled very closely. Jeff had his arm wrapped around Annie's hips, while Annie clung to his shoulder.

"Close," whispered Jeff.

"Yeah," replied Annie.

Annie squeezed Jeff's shoulder. Firm, taught. How come she'd never noticed how built Jeff was? She came to the gradual notice that Jeff was staring at her.

"He's… taking quite a long time," Annie said, breathing heavily.

"Yeah," said Jeff.

She slid her hand behind the back of his head. Jeff pressed his palm against her back. Annie closed her eyes and opened her mouth as she slowly drew their heads close to eac other.

They pressed their lips together.

----

"What do you mean you're out of soy?" Senor Chang said, strongly irritated. "Don't you know how many adult Hispanic men are lactose intolerant? I see what's going on here. Racial discrimination. You can't insult my people without bringing down the rain."

"Well," said the barista, "I have non-dairy creamer. We could use that. Or you could go down to the Caribou Coffee three blocks down, but I don't think they make Mexican Chocolate Mocha."

"OK, fine," Chang said resignedly. He tapped his fingers angrily on the counter while he looked around. Underneath one of the tables, he could see two pairs of legs pretty close to each other. One of them belonged to a man, another a woman. Chang sneered lecherously.

"And if you can slip in a little bit of what you gave those two," Chang said conspiratorially, "that would be _muy apreciado_, _comprende_?"

---

They had lost track of time. Chang and his scooter were long gone. But Annie stopped, suddenly struck by a pang of guilt. Britta.

She all but pushed Jeff away, knocking him flat on the ground and out from under the table. His head got caught in the Halloween tablecloth and he dragged it, two cups of coffee, and a basket of napkins on the ground with him.

"What?" he said, exasperated.

"You know what, you … irresistible gigolo!" Annie said heatedly as she emerged from the other side. "I won't be your sexy mistress that you only see on weekends when you tell your hot blonde wife that you're on a business trip! I'm … I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Annie," Jeff said measuredly, "what the hell are you talking about?"

Flustered and confused, Annie stormed out of the coffee house, leaving Jeff with a stunned expression.

The barista cleared his throat. "In the future," he said unaffectedly, "we'd appreciate if you made out in the bathroom." He shrugged. "Health and safety codes."


	7. Chapter 7: Let's Be Friends Again

_Snake Eyes and The Baroness were so busy kissing that they didn't notice Scarlett opening the door. Her face was as red as her hair, which created a somewhat humorous visual effect. Her mood, though, was nowhere close to being anything resembling a good mood._

"_You BITCH!" she said, pointing at the Baroness. "How dare you make a move on a man you know doesn't belong to you! Once a snake, always a snake!"_

"_No, wait!" said the Baroness, raising her palms. "I can explain!"_

"_Yeah?" said Scarlett. "Explain THIS!" She whipped out a submachine gun and pumped the Baroness full of bullets until she was riddled with holes and dead, dead, dead._

_As blood poured out of the bullet holes in her chest, the Baroness thought happily that at least she died knowing true love._

"... and that pretty much sums up women," Jeff said, moving a knight to capture a bishop. "You think you know what they want, but then they turn it around and make you the bad guy. I tell you, the game is rigged so there's no way a guy these days can win in a relationship."

"You're talking to me about this?" the elderly Leonard said. "What, your friends not cool enough to talk to anymore?"

"Nah," said Jeff, "they're way too close. And they'll probably start cooing and crying and getting into a group hug and I'd be living out my very personal hell of being stuck in an episode of _Dawson's Creek_."

"You know what would help?" Leonard said. "You getting rid of that damn perfume you bathe in. People start to think you prefer the company of a pretty young feller."

"Oh, good one, Leonard. Like I've never heard that one before. Why should I even listen to you?" Jeff said irritably. "You creepy old man who eats strained peaches from a can and takes a figure painting class just to ogle the naked models. And for the record, it's Dolce & Galbanna for Men, and I have it on good authority that the ladies love it."

"For your information," said Leonard, "I model on the side, too."

"Goodbye, Leonard."

Jeff got up from the table and started to leave.

"Hey!" Leonard said angrily. "You're up next. I've got your king in check!"

"That's not a kind, Leonard," Jeff said angrily, "that's a salt shaker that you're using as a king because somebody lost the pieces to the chess set. And until you own up to that, I'm not giving you back the senior discount card you let me borrow to get three dollar pancakes at IHOPs."

"You want a tip, kid?" Leonard said. "Women love a hero."

Jeff looked confounded. "OK, Master Yoda, care to tell me what that even means?"

----

"Me? Really?" Britta said.

Annie nodded her head. "Please go with me to the bathroom."

"Oh, this sounds good," said Shirley. "Mind if I tag along as an impartial observer?"

"I'm sorry… this is strictly between Britta and me," Annie said sternly. "Please don't be offended."

"Oh, that's OK, honey," Shirley said, opening up an issue of O Magazine. "Oprah's got twenty-five ways to find a new man after a nasty break up, and I've only read one through eleven."

"So," said Britta after she and Annie had entered the other side of the bathroom, "what is up? Didn't see you in class yesterday."

"I was sorta playing hooky," she said. "Britta, there's something you should know. And since you're my very good friend, I though it would be best if it came from me rather than hearing it from, let's say, Shirley."

"Hey!" said a familiar voice from the other side of the restroom door. "That was a low blow."

Annie swung open the door. Shirley, who had been pressed on the other side, had her hand cupped to her ears. Her eyes widened. "Hi."

"Shirley!" Annie and Britta reprimanded.

"Fine," said Shirley, resigned, "but I'm going to find out about this sooner or later!"

After they were sure that Shirley was gone, Annie continued. "You see, what I was trying to say," Annie said, stammering, " was that … yesterday, Jeff and I… we kissed."

"Really?" Britta said, smiling. "Congratulations! Good for you!" She leaned forward and gave Annie a big hug.

Annie froze. "Um, Britta?" Annie asked tentatively. "You're … are you a polygamist?"

"What?" Britta replied, shocked. "No! Why would you say that?"

"I thought … you and Jeff … you know … were having intimate relationships?"

"No no," Britta said. "If that ship ever sailed, it sailed a long time ago. There's nothing between us. At all. Jeff's a friend, but more in the platonic drinking buddy sort of way than the 'with benefits' sort of way."

"I overhead you talking to him in the student lounge earlier this week," Annie continued. "You said that, in no uncertain terms, did you want Jeff to do that singing contest with me unless he sorted out his own feelings first. And since you were holding hands, I sort of figured that maybe there was something deeper between you two that you weren't telling anybody."

"Huh," Britta said. "You overhead all that?"

"I was … hiding in the ventilation duct," Annie added sheepishly.

"Ohhh," Britta said. "No, sweetie, I …. Were you really hiding in the ventilation duct?" Annie nodded. "Huh. I didn't think anyone could fit through there. Very interesting. Anyway, I was trying to drive you and Jeff together. When I told him not to leap at the chance to help you out, I wanted him to sort out all his unresolved feelings first. I want him to sing with you for the right reasons."

"Really?"

"YES! Make no mistake, I am totally on Team Annie."

"God," Annie said, slumping. "I'm so stupid. Jeff must think I'm a psycho."

"Fortunately for you," Britta said, "Jeff thinks all women are psychos. But at least it's not too late to patch things up."

"You're right, Britta," Annie said. She straightened her back. Her voice filled with a formidable purpose. "I am going to march up to Jeff, grab him by the arms, and tell him that he's the man for me."

"Attagirl!" Britta cheered, impressed by Annie's spirit.

"Tomorrow," Annie added, sounding resigned again. "I … sorta have a music show I have to prepare for tonight that I've been putting off since I spent all week too busy sulking."

"Eh," Britta said, "I guess that works. Just don't wait too long, OK? The longer you wait, the easier it becomes to not do anything and the lonelier you'll get. And the more likely Jeff ends up doing something really, really stupid. Personally, I'm hoping for the latter, but as a friend I don't want to see you stuck in the former."

"OK," Annie said. She hugged Britta tightly. "Thanks."

"By the way," Britta said, "can you tell me how you ended up crawling around in the ducts? There might be a few pre-graded papers I need to sabotage…."

----

Shirley caught up to Jeff just as he was picking up a day-old bologna sandwich from the cafeteria fridge. She tapped him excitedly on the shoulder.

"Jeff! Jeff!" she shouted, mischievously grinning. "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" Jeff asked.

"I heard on the grapevine," she whispered suggestively, tilting her head toward his ear, "that Britta's a polygamist."


	8. Chapter 8: We the Robots

_The Baroness floated around in the afterlife, seeing images of everything had that happened in the past. Her memory blocks gone, she saw all her screw ups --- everything that made her life a living hell up to this point. At some point, she was glad that it was all over. She didn't mind her slow, inexorable drift toward the light._

_But a piece of her was filled with deep regret. Things were finally going right in her life. Somebody down there loved her. That magical future they could've had together … now gone. If the afterlife was an extension of the last moment of your life, did she really want to go out this way … existing with regret for all eternity?_

"_No," the Baroness said, willing her spectral form back in the direction it came from. "I have to go back. Things were just getting good."_

_As she felt herself drifting back into her form, she could feel herself getting colder and colder._

Annie opened the backstage door as Britta hauled in a large ice cooler, which she dropped on a nearby table. Small puffs of frost escaped from the crack between the lid and the container. "I'll be frank with you, Annie," Britta said, slipping off her gloves. "I think all this dry ice nearly puts your over the event budget."

"I know it's a little pricey," said Annie. "Smoke machines would've been cheaper, but those things sound like lawnmowers when you run them. And one thing I know about stage shows: everyone wants smoke. Thanks for helping me out with this, Britta."

"No problem," Britta said. She peeked through the opening in the curtain at the crowd in the auditorium. "I don't mean to freak you out, Annie, but there's a pretty good number out there. I'd say somewhere around three hundred, four hundred people."

"Really?" Annie pulled up behind Britta to take a look herself. "I that's way more than I expected. I figured everyone would be at Troy's game."

"Sweetie," Britta said, "no one at any community college anywhere ever follows the football team. And everyone where looks like they wouldn't be caught dead at a football game anyway. You've got your slackers. Your bored freshmen stuck in the dorms. Some LGBT's. Your lonely middle-aged women. Oh, hey! There's Shirley! Hey, Shirley!" Britta said, waving at her study group partner.

Shirley waved back, snapping a picture with her cell phone.

"I don't see Jeff anywhere," Annie said, pulling up behind Britta. "Do you think he's mad at me? For calling him a gigolo?"

"He'll be here," Britta said, squeezing her shoulder. "When it comes to you, he always is. Besides, you've called him worse."

Abed and his Polish dorm mate, Pavel, made their way into the backstage area carrying two large trashbags. "Hey, Annie, Britta," Abed said in his typically unaffected manner. "I hope you don't mind if we take up some space in the corner. It's going to take some time to put together our costumes." He pulled out a long piece of aluminum ducting.

Pavel whispered something in Abed's ear, which caused Abed to look at Annie and then, swiftly, back at Pavel.

"I wouldn't do that," he said. "In a fan fiction, the girl always ends up with the most likely shipper pairing. Otherwise there would be no reason for a fan fiction to be written. I have no reason to believe things are going to end up differently here."

Pavel looked a little crestfallen, but still undeterred.

"What's Abed talking about?" Britta whispered to Annie. Annie just shrugged. They sifted through the garbage bags and began pulling out the contents one by one.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Abed, but this looks like something a grade-schooler would wear on Halloween," Britta said, helping them put together a large cardboard box covered in aluminum foil.

"I'm going for the Michel Gondry look," said Abed, retrieving a smaller cardboard box. "It reintroduces the analog aesthetic to the digital world --- the look of homemade videos with a sub-public access production value to offer the illusion of intimacy and accessibility, if you know what I mean."

"No," Britta said matter-of-factly. "No, I don't know what you mean."

Pavel sidled up to Annie. "Uh, A-Annie," he stammered sheepishly, "after the show, you want we should go to McDonald's?"

It was kinda sweet, Annie thought. And if this was earlier this week, maybe she would've considered it. But it shocked her to realize that now, she wasn't willing to settle for anything less than Jeff. If yesterday had taught her anything at all, it was that there were crushes, and there was chemistry. And for some reason that neither she nor Jeff could fathom, whenever they were together, sparks would fly. Annie had never understood or even believed in destiny, but now she knew what it meant when there were some forces that were too strong to resist.

Also, while Annie prided herself on being open-minded, she really couldn't stand being near a guy who reeked of cabbage. Best to let the poor guy down easy.

"I'm sorry, Pavel," she said sweetly, "but … I'm seeing someone."

----

"And that was PH Balance and Fake Troy," Professor Whitman said, "with their very interesting take on 'Weekend in New England.' May I say, gentlemen, that I commend you for your creative if highly questionable use of the word 'slutbarf.'"

Pierce gave LeJon a confident fistbump. The crowd was mostly silent except for a few scattered claps.

"Now," continued Professor Whitman, "I'd like for you to give a big round of applause for our next act. I understand they spent all last night working on their costumes. From a judging standpoint, presentation count for at least forty percent of the score. Which is a good thing, because if it was completely up to the quality of the singing … whoo boy. Anyway, give it up for … Abed and Pavel!"

Jeff arrived at the auditorium as Pierce was making his way to the back of the room. "So, did I miss anything?" Jeff asked.

"Only the most dope beatbox solo ever, am I right, Fake Troy?" slapping his singing partner's back.

LeJon responded by nodding his head and pointing both fingers at Pierce in approval.

"Know where I can find Whitman? I need him to do me a favor."

"He's right in front of the stage, other end of the judges table," Pierce said, pointing him to the front. "Hey, Jeff," he said, suddenly befuddled, "am I seeing things, or are there two robots on stage?"

"You're seeing things," Jeff said, patting Pierce on the back.

Pierce shook his head. "My God," he said, "how far we've come from the standpoint of technology. Amazing."

Abed and Pavel marched onto the stage in boxy hand-made robot costumes. They sported two cardboard guitars which were slung by a strap around their shoulders. Abed's suit had a wire coat hanger sprouting from the top. Pavel's had two flashlights taped to the sides. The crowd broke into a hushed murmur as the two took center stage. Abed cleared his throat, then he nodded toward nodded toward Professor Whitman, who pressed "Play" on the audio deck. The lights dimmed as two spotlights beamed on the two figures.

A strummed guitar backed by a slow techno beat started. Abed and Pavel began marching to the music.

At their cue, Abed and Pavel monotoned in unison: "The distant future… the year 2000…. the distant future, the year 2000…. the distant future, the distant future...."

The two stopped marching. "It is the distant future, the year two thousand," Abed said in a robotic voice.

"Ve are robots," replied Pavel, whose synthetic-sounding voice was assisted by a toy vocoder.

Abed continued. "The world is quite different ever since the robotic uprising of the late 90's. There is no more unhappiness."

"Affirmative."

"We no longer say yes. Instead we say affirmative."

"Yes. Affirmative."

"Unless we know the other robot really well."

"Zere is … no more unethical treatment of the elephants."

"Well, there are no more elephants, so…."

Jeff had made his way to just in front of the stage, and he leaned close to Professor Whitman's seat. He tapped at the edge of the table.

"Mister Winger!" Whitman said, surprised. "Fancy seeing you here!"

"I need you to do something for me, teach," Jeff said. "That big finale duet you're singing with Annie Edison? I need you to pull out of your commitment and put me in."

"No can do," Professor Whitman said. "I can't change the program on the night of the show, especially if I'm not a no show. It would be unseemly."

"What if I tell you," Jeff said, "that it was all in the spirit of 'Seizing the Day'?"

A big grin broke across Professor Whitman's face. "Now that," he said, "is the kind of crazy, wide-eyed reason I was looking for!" He ripped the entry form in two, then enthusiastically flung the pieces in the air.

"OK," said Jeff, "that was a bit unnecessary. And needlessly melodramatic."

"But you can't go onstage looking like this," Professor Whitman said disapprovingly, looking over Jeff's attire.

"What?" said Jeff. "I'll have you know that I spent all afternoon at the United Colors of Bennetton finding something right for this show."

"There's a difference," Professor Whitman said, "between dressing to the nines and dressing theatrically. What you need, good sir, is the latter. Here," he said, retrieving a box from under his table, "this was what I was going to wear tonight. Look, we're about the same size. You've got a bit of time before Abed and Pavel's binary solo and the start of your duet with Annie. Oh, and you might want to change the batteries. I didn't have time to check them before the show." He smacked two double-A batteries into Jeff's open palm. "Go. Go! Godspeed, young man."

"Dammit," Jeff muttered.

As Jeff left for the bathroom with the box, Abed and Pavel began singing rapidly in unison.

"Zero zero zero zero one…. Zero zero zero zero one one…. Zero zero zero zero one…. Zero zero zero zero one one one…."

----

"I look like Dorothy from _Wizard of Oz_," Annie said as she looked in the mirror.

"Sorry," said Britta, zipping up her back. "I was going more for Mary Jane on _Gilligan's Island_, but this was the closest they had at the costume shop. On the plus side, the pigtails are cute. I can't believe there was actually a way to make you look even more innocent. Trust me, if the judges act anything like traditional males and non-traditional females, they will go for innocent, big time."

"Did you hear the applause they gave Pavel and Abed?" Annie said. "That was incredible."

"I think that was mainly the nerd contingency," Britta said, adjusting Annie's sleeves. "I think it's something from a Youtube video."

On the other side of the curtain, they heard Professor Whitman bellow, "That was Abed and Pavel with their very faithful interpretation of 'Robots' from Flight of the Conchords. And now, ladies and gentlemen, get ready for our final performance. The song, 'We've Got Tonight,' originally written and performed by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band but popularized by the great Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton."

"OK, you're up," Britta said. "Knock 'em dead, Dorothy."

"Thanks," Annie said, giving Britta a big hug.

Annie stepped through the curtains. "And performing the song," Professor Whitman continued, "are Annie Edison and, as a last minute replacement for yours truly, Jeff Winger!"

The auditorium roared in thunderous applause. Annie froze. Jeff stood before her, dressed in an ivory white suit with a jacket accessorized with blinking white Christmas lights.

Jeff coolly regarded Annie's outfit. "Yee haw," he said with a smile.

Annie covered her mouth to keep herself from giggling. "Oh my God," she said, "you are such a dork."


	9. Chapter 9: Excellent Kids Can't Dance

_The Baroness's eyes fluttered open. She was in a hospital room, back in the land of the living. Her eyes began to focus on the blurry objects in the room. There were two figures sitting next to her bed. One was Snake Eyes. The other … a woman with red hair…._

_Her hand shot at the nightstand next to her, hoping to come into contact with a scalpel._

"_No!" Snake Eyes said, grabbing her wrist._

"_Let go of me, you sexy ninja!" The Baroness said, struggling._

"_You don't understand," Snake Eyes said. "Scarlett had nothing to do with this. Your attacker … was an imposter!"_

"_Well," said the Baroness, confused. "That was… convenient."_

_And it very much was. I mean, I know it's canon and all, but this is ridiculous. In fact, first chance I get, this is going to re-write. Note to self: do not post on LiveJournal._

"Bear with me for a second," Professor Whitman said to the audience, as Pierce fiddled with the sound system, a tower of electronic equipment and wires on a shaky metal rack. "This is what the school gets for failing to upgrade the sound system since the 1970's."

"Ah, I think I've got it," said Pierce, turning up a tiny knob. A fan turned on, blowing the mist from the dry ice onto the stage. "Nope. Spoke too soon. Nice effect, though."

The audience groaned.

"Hey, who's the dork?" Jeff said in a hushed tone so only Annie could hear him. "You're the star player on the debate team."

"Look who's talking," Annie said.

"Besides, a wrinkled old man once told me that a hero has to be vulnerable sometimes," Jeff said. "I figure that since this is the real world where you can't slay any dragons or provide my body as a shield from bald-headed megalomaniacs, I figure wearing a sparkly suit that's too gay for Liberace would have to do."

"So, you're not upset with me?" Annie asked nervously.

Jeff furrowed his brow. "For what?"

"You know..." Annie said, "the coffee house?"

"If you want to get my honest to God opinion," Jeff said, "that was kinda hot."

Annie chuckled a little. "Jeff?" she said.

"Hm?"

She pushed the microphone against his chest. "I think you're supposed to be singing in fifteen seconds."

And indeed it was. The music-only track began to play, a slow piano piece with violin accompaniment. A small spotlight pointed through the dry ice mist and lit up the spot where Jeff was standing.

Jeff turned to Annie. "This," he said, "is going to be awful."

Jeff cleared his throat and began to sing in a rather off-key manner: "I know it's late... I know you're weary.... I know your plans... don't include me. Still here we are.... both of us longing.... longing for shelter.... in all that we see...."

"_You'll be in the hospital for a few more days," Scarlett said, looking at the charts. "Fortunately, the nanotech should accelerate the process."_

_She looked at Snake Eyes and the Baroness, who were looking into each other's eyes. Scarlett sighed. There were times when you were needed, and times when you need to surreptitiously sneak away._

"_I think," said Scarlett, "that I need to do a security check on the perimeter. You kids play nice."_

It was such a beautiful setting; the swirling mist, softening the stage lights, the soft flutter of the curtains. Crap, Annie thought, what were those lyrics again?

"Deep in my soul, I've been so homely," she sang. "All of my hopes, fading away. I've longed for love, like everyone else's. I won't keep searching, even after today."

She winced. That wasn't it.

"_Baroness," Snake Eyes said, knelling at the bedside. "I love you."_

_The Baroness touched his handsome, uncovered face._

_"So do you think we'll really work out?" The Baroness asked of Snake Eyes. "Even though you are a mysterious, cynical, yet cool ninja with a checkered past and I am an earnest yet emotionally wounded newcomer?"_

_"Baby," said Snake Eyes, "we belong together. We're like chocolate-covered bacon. It sounds strange at first, but it's pretty wonderful and possibly life changing."_

_The Baroness raised her eyebrow. "That's a terrible analogy," she said. "Am I the chocolate, at least?"_

Annie and Jeff stood close to each other, singing the lyrics in unison. "We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight babe…. Why don't you stay?"

Jeff slid to the front of the stage on one knee, shutting his eyes tight and belting out the next verses while balling his hand into a fist. "I know it's late, I know you're weary…."

"Jeff…."

"I know your plans don't include meeeeeeeee…."

"Jeff! The music stopped."

"Oh," he said, swiftly rising to his feet.

"Sorry," Professor Whitman said, pounding on the sound equipment. "Technical difficulties."

"C'mon, man," said Pierce. "You call that electronic repair? Put your back into it!" He gave the sound system a swift kick.

The speakers roared to life. And out came a confusing mix of soft music from the Lite FM and a funky beat accompanied by a pounding bass.

"Hey," said Pierce, beaming, "that's my song!"

Jeff and Annie looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

Jeff told hold of Annie's hands and nodded. "Milady," he said.

Annie curtsied. "Milord," she replied.

They began dancing. They kicked their legs. They swung their shoulders. They swayed their hips in unison. They were awful. But they were having fun.

"Oh my God," Shirley said, "those two are having seizures."

"Is that krumping?" Pierce asked, turning to Abed.

"No," said Abed, "I'd say it's closer to being the Charleston." He cocked his head. "Actually, it looks more like the jive." He cocked his head in the other direction. "Actually, I'm pretty sure they're just making it up."

"Well," said Britta, who'd been watching the performance from the back of the room, "we can't let them have all the fun, c'mon…." She looked around. Abed? No. Pierce? God no. She grabbed LeJon's hand. "C'mon, Troy."

"It's LeJon."

"Whatever. Just dance."

As the Greendale Idol closed, everyone got out of their seats to join in, dancing the night away to a strange, unconventional beat.


	10. Chapter 10: Clumsy Love

Troy was still wearing his blue Greendale Human Beings jersey, which was soaked in sweat. He propped his elbows on the cold metal bleachers behind him. The stadium audience was sparse. The bleachers, a small twenty row construction, was only half full, and more than half of that were supporters of the City School of Barbers Hairmen. "I am so glad you made the game," Troy said. "Can't say you missed anything, though. The first half was pretty much a blow out."

"No problem," said Abed. "The Greendale Idol ended fifteen minutes ago, and it's only a short walk to the field."

Troy pointed to the trophy beside Abed. "Best Overall Performance in a Musical Duet?" Troy asked.

Abed nodded. "I am the Greendale Idol."

"Nice. I don't mind singing to mice, but performing in front of an audience gives me stage fright."

"We passed it around and drank champagne," Abed said. "The non-alcoholic kind. I think they put regulations on alcohol consumption at school functions after what went down at the STD fair. Also, we used paper cups out of concern over swine flu. Here, I saved you a bottle." He retrieved a large bottle he'd stuffed in his backpack and handed it to Troy.

"Tight," Troy said, popping open the top of the bottle. "I don't mind saying that I am damn thirsty." He down a heavy swig of non-alcoholic sparkling champagne.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be out on the field?" Jeff asked. Troy turned his head. Sitting behind them were Jeff, Annie, Pierce, and Britta, and Shirley, who was waving a tiny "Greendale" pennant.

"Defense is on the field," Troy said. "And with the way the Hairmen are drawing penalties, I figure I don't need to be in the game ten ... fifteen minutes tops. Hey, I thought Abed won that contest. What's that ribbon for?"

"It says, 'Mr. Photogenic,'" said Jeff, looking down at the ribbon pinned on his shirt.

"I won 'Mr. Can-Do Attitude,' whatever that means," said Pierce.

"I figure everyone who showed up deserved a small prize," explained Annie. "It came with a $5 gift certificate to Applebee's."

The crowd suddenly sprung to life with a mix of cheers and boos… mostly boos. Troy left out of his seat, grabbing the helmet that had been on the bench next to him. "Fumble," Troy said. "About time! Alright, guys, I'm about to lead the Human Beings to victory. See you guys after the game." He rushed out onto the field, chanting, "HUUUUman BEEEEinngs!" with his teammates. "Put your hands in the air and eave 'em like you just don't care!" Troy added.

"A fumble," Jeff tried to explain to a confused Annie, "is when one team drops the ball and the opposing team recovers."

Pierce leaned over to Britta. "So," he said suggestively, "I hear you're into multiple husbands."

Britta shot Pierce and incredulous glance. "What."

"I'm just saying," continued Pierce, "that maybe, for the sake of variety, you might want to look into a guy who's more mature. Experienced. Able to help you forge connections in the business world. That sort of thing."

Abed mercifully interrupted him. "Troy's going to go for the quarterback sneak," he said.

"What?" Jeff replied. "At first and ten in the opposing team's zone? Ridiculous."

On the field, Troy caught the snap, then faked a throw to his wide receiver. He then tucked the ball in the crook of his elbow and plunged forward for a gain of fifteen yards.

"You see," Abed said, "the Human Beings have no option at running back, and their wide receivers are mediocre at best. Most quarterbacks coming from the high school level are also statistically good at doubling as a running back. In addition, you'll notice that no one on the Hairmen defensive line weighs more than 150 lb. Get past them and all you have to deal with is the secondary. It was the easiest play to make."

"Abed, my friend," said Jeff, "I think there's a trip to Caesar's Palace in our future."

Annie leaned over to Jeff and whispered something in his ear. Jeff was taken aback at first. "Serious?" he asked. Annie nodded with a tight smile. Jeff furrowed his brow. "That," he said, smirking, "sounds like a good idea."

"So," Annie said, standing up, "we're going to the concession stand. Is there ... anything anyone wants?"

"I will have ... nachos!" said Pierce.

"I could use a hamburger," said Shirley. "I am feeling kinda hungry."

"Water, I guess," said Britta, half-wondering if she'd end up dumping it all over Pierce's head before the day was through.

"Hot dog," said Abed. He raised a finger. "But only if it's halal. More for the taste than for any cultural or religious ramifications."

"OK!" said Annie hurriedly, grabbing Jeff's hand. "We'll be back in, oh, twenty minutes." They headed down the bleachers and headed in the direction of the cafeteria, which doubled as the concession stand at game time.

Shirley followed them with their eyes, then scooted near to Abed's spot. "So, Abed," Shirley asked conspiratorially once the couple were out of sight, "what do you think those two are up to?"

"Well, in a fan fiction ----" Abed stopped. He pursed his lips while an intense look came over his eyes. He thought about it for a second, then turned back to Shirley. "Jeff will most likely get the 16-oz. dark chocolate mocha and a scone, and Annie will probably get a fish sandwich."

Shirley stared at him. "And---?"

"And that's all," Abed lied.

"That's all?"

"There may be french fries involved." Abed flashed a smile so briefly that Shirley wondered if perhaps she imagined it.

"Well," said Shirley, huffily, "you're no fun."

_At the Joe training facility, located many miles underground, the latest in holographic imaging technology creates illusions to forestall claustrophobia. Right now, it was set to resemble a small football field. It was after hours, and only two figures were there: Snake Eyes, in his causal wear of stylish and expensive clothes, and the Baroness, still wearing her hospital gown. They'd snuck out of the medical facility, which was no problem for a master ninja._

_Finally, after all this time, they were alone. The Baroness ran her hands through Snake Eyes' rugged blonde hair. Then they locked lips with Snake Eyes under the glow of the stadium lights, or the illusion of stadium lights. _

_"What are you thinking?" said the ninja._

_The Baroness flashed him a seductive sidelong glance. "It's always been my fantasy to make out with the hot jock behind the concession stand," she said sultrily._

_They kissed again. And yes, it was hot._

_THE END_


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